On the willows there, we hung up our lyres

Lan Wangji's teacup is empty now, and as usual, the leaves at the bottom reveal nothing without his mother's practiced eye. He sets it lightly down. "I think he will." He wants to be honest with Galahad -- always, if possible, but especially about Claudius, whose happiness and safety feel sometimes like a delicate treasure they must pass back and forth between the two of them. So he takes a moment to phrase this carefully and truthfully. "He still has journeys to make, but he is not alone on them. I think that he was only a visitor because he doesn't need to be here. Your betrothed, my brother -- he does. He needs us."